


Not Today

by Skalidra



Series: Earth-3 Storyline [21]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Dubious Consent, Earth-3, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Memory Loss, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days where waking up isn't worth it, and this is one of them. Waking up with no memory of - at least - the last day, naked, and in bed with your greatest rival, who is barely even worth being called an ally, is not the best way to start a morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hisbabygirl18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisbabygirl18/gifts).



> So I meant to post something totally different, but then I posted up a 'Give me a pairing and one of these prompts and I'll write you something' and I got a prompt from 'hisbabygirl18love' over on Tumblr for a mix of Clark/Bruce, in Earth-3, with 'Sleepy Cuddles'. Yes, you read that right. XD I wrote the whole thing today and it exploded and became 8k. So, here you are darling!
> 
> (That prompt post, by the way, is right over here: - http://skalidra.tumblr.com/post/117582246910/send-me-two-characters-and-a-prompt-and-ill - and anyone reading is more than welcome to come and send me some more, anonymous or not. Anonymous just means I can't publicly credit you for the prompt. XD)

There are some days I believe it’s a mistake just to wake up. This is definitely shaping up to be one of them.

It’s not unusual for me to wake up inside my fortified room of the Crime Syndicate base, as sometimes the flight back to Gotham is too long for me to make while tired, or sometimes I have business here in the morning and there’s no sense in flying back and then returning. It’s not even unusual for me to not wake up alone, since Diana is equally exhausting as some of the more taxing fights, and sometimes enjoys the warmth of someone sleeping next to her.

However, the arm slung over my chest, hand wrapped loosely around my wrist, and the body at my back are most definitely _not Diana’s_.

I stare down at the arm, feel what I can of who’s pressed up against me — nose all but buried in the back of my neck, and one large leg pushed between mine — come to the decision we’re both entirely nude underneath the thin sheet covering me, and then realize who’s at my back with a kind of muted horror. Chest as large as mine, smooth skin with no scars and fingers with no callouses, and nearly a furnace at my back, running hotter than most humans could survive.

_Clark_.

I shift, cautiously, and his hand reflexively tightens around my wrist as he gives a sleepy rumble of displeasure into the back of my neck. The shift also informs me of some rather localized spots of pain, and I close my eyes for a moment to breathe and figure out precisely what hurts.

My hips ache, to begin with. Not enough to make me consider severe or permanent damage, but enough for there to be likely vivid bruises. Most of my shoulders twinge when I move, but it’s the sting of surface wounds and slight bruising, not of wrenched muscle. My left thigh _does_ havea deeper sort of ache, but it feels like strained muscle and not any real damage that might require a cast or something similar. Lastly, there are a few spots on my back that feel like they’ve bruised, high near my shoulder blades and reminiscent of an impact with a wall. Either an extremely hard impact, or one without my suit.

I flick my eyes back open, considering the room, and clench my jaw for a second — which tells me I have a split lip too — at the scattered pieces of uniform across the floor of the room, my dark metal and his brighter tights and the splay of his cape. At least it _is_ my room in our base, which means it’s shielded to any and all kinds of surveillance. That was _meant_ to keep Clark from hearing or seeing anything inside it, not to prevent anyone else from seeing that I somehow ended up in a bed with him.

Which brings me to another fairly disturbing realization. I don’t remember what happened that led to this. _If_ I could get to my suit I could check what time it is — possibly what day — and then figure out how much time I’m missing. From there, I can fill in the blanks through other people’s recollections, and figure out precisely what led to… this.

_If_ I could get to it.

I shift again, slowly starting to draw myself away from the heat at my back, and the arm around my chest becomes the equivalent of a steel restraint. I glare down at it, briefly, before more firmly trying to drag my wrist out of the immovable fingers looped around it. _Kryptonians_.

“Stop moving,” Clark grumbles, unceremoniously dragging me tighter against him with the completely unfair advantage of super-strength and invulnerable skin. His thigh shoves further between mine, drawing higher, and he rubs his face against the back of my neck like some kind of scent marking. If that’s precisely what he’s doing, I will _murder_ him, damn the consequences.

I try for a growl as I grind out, “ _Clark_ ,” with all of the stiff displeasure and warning I can manage.

“ _Bruce_ ,” he growls right back, and then laughs with a vicious edge that normally makes me recheck precisely where my kryptonite is. “Makes us even, doesn’t it?” In this case, across the room near a corner I will _never_ get to in time.

“Hardly,” I counter, as I try not to consider how many ways he could kill me right now, and how completely helpless I am to actually stop any of them. “ _Release_ me, or—”

“Go on, _make_ a threat you can’t back up.” His hand tightens around my wrist to the point of pain, but I clench my jaw and refuse to give him the pleasure of making me voice it. “We both know your kryptonite is across the room, _Bruce_ , and I don’t remember what got us here, but it looks like it was _fun_.” Mutual memory loss, that’s at least one positive of this.

I can feel his head tilt, mouth coming down over my shoulder and on top of one of the more stinging spots, and my mind loops my collection of injuries together with instant clarity. Oh _no_. Of course it was the most likely option — there are only a few possibilities of why two people wake up, nude, in a bed together — but I was attempting to think of any other viable reason. However, the injuries I have are fairly self-explanatory, and paint a clear picture.

Bruises on my back from being pushed against a wall, strained muscle in my thigh from some kind of stretch, bruises on my hips from someone with super-strength who isn’t _careful_ , and marks across my shoulders because of _course_ Clark would be a possessive son of a bitch. I already knew that from Diana’s tug of war with us, and whatever people might say it’s _her_ who keeps us both. I just take advantage of the fact she likes to antagonize Clark.

I clench my jaw, feeling the heat of his mouth against my skin, his tongue prodding purposefully into bruises he more than likely left to begin with. It hurts a bit, but not enough to force a reaction from me. I try and shake him off, and to my slight surprise it actually works. Or at least, he pulls away from my shoulder to lick a stripe up the side of my neck, which is arguably even _less_ pleasant. Almost as unpleasant as the fact that I can feel him hardening against the cleft of my ass, and the flex of the thigh pressed between mine.

He gives another laugh into my ear — at least this time it’s quieter — and presses up against me. “You know I can _smell_ me on you?” he asks, with a viciously satisfied edge. “ _Taste_ what we did on your skin?” Kryptonian senses are far superior to human ones, so of _course_ I knew. Whatever we did, Clark will know more of it than I will just because of what his senses pick up that mine don’t. The advantage grates on me, but not enough that I’m going to tell him to stop talking. As if that would work anyway.

I resist jerking against his hold, it won’t get me anywhere, and settle for flexing my fingers and shifting to bring my other arm out from where it’s trapped mostly underneath me. It won’t help, but on the off-chance something occurs that lets me even things, there’s no sense in being any more at a disadvantage than I already am. I can hear Clark take a deep breath next to my ear, and then his fingers flex on my wrist — that’s going to leave bruises — and he rocks up against me as he gives a low, rough moan, shoving me forward with his weight and a little more flat against the bed beneath him.

He lets go of my wrist, and he’s fast enough that I don’t have time to do more than register the change before he’s shoving me flat on my stomach and rising to kneel above me. I start to rise and turn and his left hand presses down into the center of my back, keeping me pinned as easily as if I’m not anything more than a normal civilian. He lies down on top of me, weight pressing me down and making it just a little hard to breathe as his teeth graze across the side of my neck and he rolls his hips down against me.

His other hand strokes down my back, unerringly and without hesitation dipping down to my ass, and I allow myself a snarl to try and warn him off. Not that it works, or that he even _pauses_ , but it lets me vent just a little bit as he shoves one of his fingers inside me. It’s not the most comfortable thing, considering the lack of lubrication and the size of his fingers, but not painful like I expect it to be since I can feel that my muscles are slightly looser than they should be. Which is another point to add to the theory and near _fact_ that last night, Clark—

“I can smell me _inside_ you,” he rumbles against my throat, satisfaction and desire warring in his voice as he presses his hips down against me. I stiffen a little bit, and he withdraws the finger and reaches lower, between my legs, to wrap his hand around me. I’m not hard, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him, and to my surprise his touch is firm but not painful or uncomfortable like it easily could be. Still, I don’t appreciate being manhandled like some kind of toy.

But what am I really going to be able to do to stop him? I don’t have the strength, my gear is across the room, and even if it was possible for anyone to hear me struggle, I wouldn’t want anyone to see this. That narrows my options pretty severely. Probably the best I can do is make sure that Clark doesn’t hurt me any more than he already has, or at least not in any kind of more important or serious way. Kryptonians are always difficult to control.

Sometimes I envy that Tim’s Kryptonian, Kon-El, is so well-behaved when compared to his ‘father.’ If _I_ could wind Clark around my fingers that easily and completely, things would be very different. For one, this would never have happened. Or at least, I _assume_ this wouldn’t have happened. Without knowing exactly what made this encounter happen, I can’t say that having control of Clark would have stopped it. For all I know, this was some kind of reaction to a drug, virus, poison, or any other number of things.

I _seem_ to be missing at least an entire day worth of time, considering the last thing I recall is going to sleep in my own bed at the Manor. How I got from there to here, and with _him_ , is frustratingly blank.

Clark is mouthing and nipping along the side of my throat, adding more to the collection of bruises and marks I’m going to have, and I stay still and try to collect my bearings. The touch isn’t anything more than a nuisance, not unless I allow it to be more, and with my head down against the bed it’s not like I can see anything that might change that. The press of a warm body — hot, in this case — and someone else’s arousal has never been enough to work me up, not even in my younger years. For now, I can all but ignore Clark, and maybe that will be enough to get him to back off. I don’t have to get hard _any_ sooner than I want to, and I don’t feel like encouraging him into this.

His fingers do feel good enough wrapped around me, but I’m better than allowing something so minor to get a reaction out of me.

“I think I like you better when you’re not talking,” he says against my skin, with a snap of his teeth that breaks skin and sends a trickle of blood sliding down my throat until he licks it away.

“Don’t get used to it,” I counter, forcing myself not to react to the brief flash of pain, or the swipe of his tongue afterwards.

“What about if I gag you?” It sounds like something he’s actually thinking about, and maybe it also sounds a step away from laughing — I can _feel_ his grin against my neck — but it’s better to nip that in the bud _right_ now.

“Try it,” I challenge, “and I _guarantee_ you’ll regret it. Maybe not now, but you _will_.”

The hand pressed into the center of my back slides away, stroking down my side and then curling around my hip in nearly _exactly_ the same pattern as the ache of bruises. Not that the lack of a pin matters. His hold on me will keep me still, and even if it wouldn’t he’s still lying on top of me and I couldn’t shift him even if I tried. Trying would only make me look foolish, and enforce to him that he has me more or less at his mercy. He wouldn’t _dare_ killing me, not with what I’ve promised will happen if he does, and not with the hell the rest of my family will bring down on his head, but there’s lots of things he could do that I’d probably let go. Or at least, only retaliate for, and not ruin him.

He drags my hips back into him, laughing into the side of my neck. “I think it’s probably worth it. _Lots_ of things I could seal your mouth up with, _Bruce_.” He’s _so pleased_ that he knows who I am, it’s almost ridiculous if it wasn’t also aggravating. There’s not much he can do with my name, but the one-sided knowledge was an advantage I liked keeping.

I don’t offer any response to his crude implications, keeping my jaw clenched and my body unresponsive to his touches. It’s not that difficult, not yet anyway.

“You just love your _control_ don’t you?” He rocks up against me, and bites down onto the back of my neck, over my spine. A _sharp_ flash of instinctive wariness stiffens me, but he only bites hard enough to leave what I’m sure will be a _very_ visible imprint of his teeth before he lets go. “What if I _break_ it? What are you going to do then?”

Huh, now that could be an interesting concept. Maybe not an entirely unpleasant one either.

Clark would take some training of course, and perhaps a few times of putting him in his place, but that can be arranged. Perhaps Tim has the right idea with Kon-El, perhaps all Kryptonians need is a firm hand and someone willing to take them down when necessary. Kon-El is so _firmly_ in my son’s power, perhaps I can do the same to Kal-El.

“You think you _can?_ ” I challenge, and smooth out my stiffness out to turn this back on him. I twist my head back his direction, ease beneath him and press back into the heat of his frame. It might be _interesting_ to see how that increased core temperature feels, and apart from Diana I haven’t had a particularly satisfying night in a while. Diana is quite good, but I don’t limit my sexuality to females, and what few males I consider taking home, or to a hotel, haven’t been as good as I wanted them to be. I don’t normally let other people have me, but for the sake of taming a Kryptonian I might make an exception. I’m not necessarily opposed to the idea.

At the very least, proving my superiority in this one night might make him rethink his attitude towards me, and I have _no_ doubt that I have superior ability to control myself than he has the ability to coax. I’m sure that I’m the better lover of the two of us as well, and I have _practice_ manipulating metahumans and those with increased invulnerability and thus lower sensitivity to touch. Clark, on the other hand, doesn’t have practice dealing with a regular human, and I _doubt_ he knows much about it. I can outlast him, _easily_.

Clark looks taken aback for a second, blue eyes flashing wide, before he grins and lowers his mouth, holding my gaze, to drag his teeth across the top of my shoulder. I think he intends it to be arousing, but the only thought that occurs to me is how easily he could sink his teeth through my skin and rip apart my muscle, so it doesn’t have the desired effect. His hand flexes around my hip, which is nothing but an aching pain as it aggravates the bruises, and his other hand gets something vaguely right and strokes the length of me, seemingly unbothered by the fact I’m not even remotely hard. Only vaguely right, because without something to ease the way, be that precome or lube, the friction of his hand is just slightly uncomfortable.

“I could take you _apart_ ,” he says, mostly into my skin, his eyes narrowing as he stares down at me.

I push back, and he lets me turn enough to flip onto my back beneath him, his hands letting go and then bracing on the bed to either side of my shoulders as I settle. It’s definitely a predatory position, and this _does_ put him firmly between my legs, but I can deal with both of those things. Clark has never, and _will_ never frighten me, even if it’s true that he can hurt me.

“That’s not the same thing as making me lose control,” I point out, drawing a smirk to my face as I meet his gaze. “Pain is one thing, _Kal_ , pleasure is another entirely.” I let the smirk draw a little higher. “Diana’s never mentioned, are you _any_ good at sex or do you simply pound away until you’re satisfied? Can you make her _scream_ like I can?”

His eyes narrow, tension drawing his shoulders up, and then his hand is wrapping around my throat and shoving me back against the bed. I don’t allow myself to draw in the sharp gasp that I want to, and I don’t react in any way but to twitch my smirk even higher.

“If you’re trying to _scare_ me, Clark, you might want to rethink your approach.”

“I’m _good_ ,” he insists, defensively, but he doesn’t make any mention about making her scream, so I count it as a victory. Not that I needed that confirmation to know that I’m a better lover than Clark. Clark is brute force, and sex requires _subtlety_ that he doesn’t have and never will.

“I’m sure you are,” I say flatly, letting him read my sarcasm. He lets go of my throat, and I resist the instinctive urge to swallow. I raise my left arm to hook it behind my head, cushioning my neck and letting myself appear completely, totally, casual. “After all, I’m sure if _Diana_ is satisfied with you simply pushing her back and driving in until you come, _clearly_ I will be as well. Since, as I’m _sure_ you know, male and female anatomy is completely the same in the human species, and we’re _both_ so receptive to that kind of one-sided sexual repertoire. If you’re so very confident that you’re as good as that, I suppose I should just lie back and let you work away. Obviously I’ll be just as satisfied as _she_ is.”

His jaw winds tighter with every word I say, his right hand curling into the sheets until I can hear them tear beneath his grip. Perhaps it’s not entirely intelligent to antagonize such a powerful man, especially at such a disadvantage, but I can’t resist and even if I could, I wouldn’t. If I show Clark that I’m at a disadvantage and that it concerns me, at _all_ , if I let my current state of helplessness cow me or make me more compliant, he’ll never forget it. Clark may not be the smartest, not like me or any of my family, but he has a nose for weakness and a long memory. If I show weakness, he’ll remember it, and I can’t afford that.

“Perhaps _that’s_ why she was so receptive to my advances,” I mock, watching him for any telltale signs of attack, timing exactly how far I can push him before he gets violent. “It must be terrible having a lover with no talent, and no concept of _foreplay_. Even if I’m not as strong as you, it must be a relief to have someone give her more than penetration and a decent thing to look at.”

“Shut the hell up,” he snarls, and I smirk, but let him have his silence for a few moments.

Then, I return the conversation back to _his_ claim. “You can’t satisfy _her_ , and you think you can make _me_ lose my control, _Kal?_ You either have an inaccurately low estimation of me or a much higher estimation of yourself than all facts seem to point to being true. Do you think that it’s really as simple as just fucking until you come?” I tilt my chin up a bit in challenge, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe I should show _you_ how it’s done, _Kryptonian_.”

There’s another flash of surprise in his eyes, and then he pulls back a little bit, looking a little unsettled. “ _You?_ You’re just _human_.”

“And yet, here you are wanting me, and so does _Diana_. Makes a case for _talent_ over power, doesn’t it?”

I can see his shoulders tense, his eyes turn to slits as he sneers down at me, muscles clenching in his jaw and his arms. I hear the sheets rip a little further. “I don’t _need_ you,” he spits down at me, and I give a quiet, amused laugh.

“I don’t remember saying you _needed_ me, Clark, though it’s interesting _you_ did. I said you _want_ me, and you can try to tell me whatever you want but that’s a _fact_.” I flick my gaze down his chest — he’s certainly not bad looking, he has a certain handsome quality, and the muscle definition without accompanying scars is interesting — to the jut of his cock, and watch him flinch back a bit and flush with some combination of anger and what I think just might be embarrassment. How _satisfying_. “Are you going to argue that you don’t? _You_ started this, not me.”

“We’ve already fucked,” he grinds out, “I—”

“Sure,” I say, cutting him off, and I can see him jerk a bit but he doesn’t strike, “but neither of us can remember what happened. _You’re_ the one who started things when we woke up like this, not me.” I let my smirk curl my mouth again, and pointedly flick my eyes back down. “And _you’re_ the one that’s hard, Clark, not me. Hard and I haven’t even _touched_ you, which doesn’t say much about _your_ control, does it?”

_That_ flush is anger. “I could make you _shout_ if I wanted to, _Bruce_. You’re not that good.”

“If that’s what you choose to think. Interesting that you didn’t say ‘scream,’ isn’t it?” It was _always_ satisfying to run verbal circles around Clark, and this, I admit, is just as satisfying. At a disadvantage or not, I’m still more than capable of outsmarting and out-talking him. I always will be. “If you’re _so_ confident, _Kal_ , why don’t we make a bargain? I’m sure there are things you want from me, and I _know_ there are things I wouldn’t mind taking from you. All you have to do is put your,” another pointed flick of my gaze, and an upwards curl to my smirk, “ _other_ parts where your mouth is. Since you're so _confident_.”

Nothing is quite as enjoyable as seeing Clark unsure of himself.

“I don’t have to _prove_ myself to you.” He pushes away, back up to his knees, and I give another small sound of amusement and hold his gaze. I don’t bother saying anything, letting my smirk and my silence say every mocking word that I could aloud. I can see the insecurity in his eyes, and it’s just a little bit addictive. I think I might understand why Tim enjoys _his_ Kryptonian so much, though I didn’t before.

Out-maneuvering someone genetically stronger than you, no matter what, is rather intoxicating, especially Kryptonians. Kon-El’s arrogance was much less reinforced than Clark’s is, and he _did_ believe that humans were inferior to him but Tim quickly disabused him of that notion. I will fully admit to being very nearly _proud_ of Kon-El when he stood up to his ‘father’ in defense of Tim, and didn’t back down despite the certainty that Clark would kill him. Kon-El is one of us now, only _barely_ associated with Clark, and stealing what amounts to my greatest rival’s son — and most dangerous tool — was extremely entertaining. I can’t claim Kon-El as mine, but he’s part of the family, and he is _definitely_ Tim’s.

Clark stares down at me, and I can see the thoughts as his reactions show in his eyes, and in twitches of body language. Finally, his jaw clenches down for a moment and then he asks, grudgingly, “What kind of bargain?”

And I’ve caught him. “ _If_ you can make me lose control, you get something you want from me. If you can’t, I get something from _you_. Acts, items, promises… What do you _want_ from me, Kal?” It will be _so_ easy to loop him into this, and the question isn’t what he wants from me — even with the miniscule chance he actually wins, there’s very little he could dream up that would even inconvenience me — it’s what I want from him. There are _so_ many options, and many of them would be so _very_ satisfying.

Of course, it will also have to be something that won’t make him balk. There’s no information he has that I want or need, and I can already order and manipulate him into any position I need him in during combat, or when it has to do with the Crime Syndicate. I could extract promises from him, but the chance that he’d actually keep them would be fairly small. Clark may be proud, but he’s not proud enough to actually hold up a deal he doesn’t like his end of. Though I suppose the threat of telling the rest of the Crime Syndicate what happened between us — and that he’s utterly incapable of satisfying in a bed — might be enough to make him keep his word.

Or, I could go the simple route. How _interesting_ would it be to make him kneel for me? Or to get him on his knees and teach him how good _I_ am at sex, and how inferior he is. It’s always enjoyable taking my proud allies and putting them in their places.

Doing that to Hal was _very_ amusing, and satisfying too. He looks _good_ sprawled across a container, and he makes _very_ pleasant noises when he’s getting fucked, but that’s something I only ever did once. Even if it took them just slightly shorter than _forever_ to figure it out, Hal Jordan and Barry Allen always meant more to each other than casual sex. It was entertaining to watch, if slightly irritating and inconvenient at times. Mostly, they got very protective and aggressive when one of them was hurt; it was amusing to press the advantage and watch them get defensive. Barry is especially protective of Hal, and still, to this day, doesn’t like letting me near the Green Lantern.

I’ve watched the footage from the surveillance I set up in Barry’s home, and the first meeting of Hal and Barry’s wife, Iris, was quite the interaction. Nothing Barry expected, I don’t think. It certainly helped the speedster that both Hal and Iris knew of each other’s existence for a while before they ever met.

It might be quite fun to see what it’s like to fuck a Kryptonian, in the opposite direction from what Clark wants. It would be especially fun to put him underneath a red sun light source and take advantage while he’s powerless, see how loud I can make him scream his pleasure. Maybe that would put Clark back on his heels for a while, or, ideally, make him want _more_. Then I could extract other deals in exchange for doing it to him again.

Sure, I _could_ hurt him, but where’s the sense in that? If I hurt him, then I’m punishing him for making a deal with me, and losing our competition. Instead, if I fuck him — I wonder how many times I could make him orgasm — I’m subtly reinforcing that making deals with me might not necessarily be unpleasant, even if he loses. After all, the most that he’ll suffer is a bit of humiliation, and that just because I won’t be able to help myself. Well, maybe some _small_ amounts of pain at the very start. I can’t imagine that Clark would submit to me taking my part of our deal underneath a red sun light source, where I could do just about anything to him.

However, I’m a better fighter than him by far, and with my suit still on he won’t stand a chance without his powers to give him the advantage. I can deal with only seeing him underneath the red sun to make that happen.

Alternatively, maybe I could come up with some kind of kryptonite-laced restraints that would have enough to disable him, maybe weaken him a bit, but not enough to kill or sicken him. If I could create restraints that would actually hold him down, make him all but human, without putting him in enough discomfort or pain to stop him from feeling pleasure, it might be worth it.

I wonder if Tim’s created anything like that. Kon is only half-Kryptonian, but it wouldn’t surprise me if my son had created something to take Kon down to a human level. If nothing else — it almost pains me to think about, but I persevere — he might have wanted to give Kon the ability to struggle, or completely lose control, without the possibility of getting hurt. Most of Kon’s invulnerability comes from his tactile telekinesis field, and an automatic rejection of anything that might touch his skin or harm it, but there is a certain level of Clark’s invulnerability that he inherited. Maybe Tim’s wanted to play without that barrier.

I’ll make some inquiries, if I can word it correctly, and privately. My family will know something happened within a few days — one of them is going to see me outside the suit, and even if I cover the bruises up and down my neck and shoulders with make-up, they’ll recognize it — if they don’t know already, but I don’t want to put any images in their heads that they don’t want. Assassins and adults or not, they’re still my sons, and they still see me more as a father than another fully capable adult. Mostly, actually, I think it might just be Damian who would be disgusted by the thought.

Since Dick’s affair with that police officer, Gannon Malloy, was revealed, he’s stopped judging the rest of the family’s choice of relationships, even if he clearly doesn’t approve. He accepted Kon officially becoming part of the family without a word, and has apparently decided that as long as he’s pursuing and playing with someone so obviously dangerous and unsuited for him, he doesn’t have the right to speak about anyone else’s choices. So he might arch an eyebrow, or look at me strangely, but he wouldn’t actually tell anyone else his thoughts unless deliberately asked.

Of course, he never did forgive Clark for breaking his zygomatic arch that one time, so perhaps he might take more offense to me sleeping with the Kryptonian than with anyone else and who they might choose.

Jason doesn’t see me as a father as much as the rest of the family, and he’ll probably laugh to the point of being incapable of speak for a while, but then he’ll come back with a grin and a demand to know more, know _details_. It might thrill him to see Clark brought lower, and I think we could share a certain dark satisfaction at proving that Clark doesn’t have the skill at sex to make me do anything I don’t want to.

Tim is the wild card, as always. He might just give me one of those small, secretive smiles that I’m still not sure about who he got them from, and give me the information I want, or work on it with me. Or, he could hold his advantage over me for a bit, and point out how fun it can be to play with a Kryptonian. I doubt that Tim would actually be concerned at the idea of me sleeping with Clark, or really give me anything but help in constructing something to bring the older Kryptonian low. Perhaps he’d even volunteer Kon-El for tests, and I’m sure that the clone would snap to heel for Tim with a smile.

I’m actually not entirely sure if any of my family knows my sexuality. My affair with Diana is obvious to everyone, as I intended it to be, but I’m not sure if any of my boys know my fluidity when it comes to gender. I know Dick and Jason are bisexual, that Tim is homosexual, and that Damian is starting to show signs of being just as bisexual as my two eldest. Of course, Jason is firmly involved with both Roy Harper and Koriand’r, and we count both of them as family as well.

Clark finally seems to work through whatever’s in his head, and he grits his teeth together for a moment before leaning down over me like he’s trying to intimidate me with his size or his strength. It must be automatic, because not even _Clark_ is foolish enough to believe he can intimidate _me_. His left hand braces next to my head, and his right follows the bend of the arm propped beneath my head and curls around my wrist, dragging it out so he can pin it down to the mattress. I let him, and don’t give any kind of a reaction to his apparent need to feel like he’s controlling me.

“I want you on your knees,” he almost growls, and I flick one eyebrow up. “Sucking my cock and taking it down your _throat_.” How _typical_ , and so _obvious_. Everything he could have asked for from me, and he settles with the old favorites of humiliation and subservience. I have very few problems with oral, whether male or female. There’s an empowering aspect to having someone at the complete mercy of your tongue and teeth.

“As long as we’re under a red sun source, I don’t have a problem with that.”

He jerks, looking like I’ve slapped him or maybe just spooked him. I wait until he’s gathered himself enough to ask, “ _What?_ ”

I give another quiet sound of amusement and raise my right, free hand to pointedly flick towards my shoulders, and then down towards the bruises on my hips. “Somehow, I don’t trust your ability to control yourself. I have no interest in a broken jaw if you fail to hold yourself back. _If_ you’re willing to be under a red sun light source, I can agree to that as a reward. Otherwise, I suppose you should reconsider.”

He looks angry — not much difference there — but he doesn’t argue the point. “Then I want you to stay away from Diana.”

“I can agree to not _approach_ her for a few months, but if you want me to agree to the suicide that outright refusing her would be that’s not something I’m willing to do. You should think your requests through, _Kal_.” Diana would be incredibly displeased if I refused her for anything but a completely valid reason, and I have no interest in putting myself in that position. I’m capable of defeating her, if I have to, but she’s an extremely capable fighter and my suit matches her strength, it doesn’t exceed it. It wouldn’t be easy.

Clark’s teeth grind together, and he presses my wrist a little harder into the bed. “You’re _infuriating_ ,” he snarls, and I resist the urge to point out how large a word that is for him. It doesn’t mean I don’t smirk.

“I’m _practical_ ,” I correct. “Not all of us are invulnerable to nearly all damage. Do you need some time to _think_ , Kal? I’m sure I can leave this deal on the table, if you need a while to think of something you want from me.” Which is more than likely true — Clark will need some time to think of anything past the obvious, I’m nearly sure of that — but also useful for my purposes. That will give me time to craft the restraints with Tim, if they’re possible, as well as give me some time to heal.

I’m fully capable of having sex right now, but it might not be entirely comfortable, even if he does hold back and not hurt me again. I would rather have new bruises after a week than more damage layered over what’s already on me. Either way, it will be equally as easy to control myself. I don’t need the advantage of being minorly injured to keep myself from becoming aroused.

Also, this will give me the chance to figure out what happened to take our memories and cause this. I do have security in this room, but not even Grid can access it. I’ll have to head back to the Roost to access this footage, see where it starts — I wouldn’t let Clark into this room if I had the choice, so that’s another part of this mystery — and then see if that tells me enough about what happened, or if I’m going to have to consult Grid, or perhaps even other people. It’s possible that the boys are already conducting searches for me, or aware of what happened. If I behaved strangely in the — at least — a day that I can’t recall, then it’s possible they already know something was wrong with me. Either way, the footage comes first.

Plus, watching the footage will give me an advantage over Clark. It will tell me exactly what happened, how it happened, and precisely how we interacted. I know he took the role of top, but did I fold to that, did I put up a fight, did I even get off or was it only him? There are a lot of questions that the footage either might or will answer, and every bit of information is an advantage that I’ll have over Clark. In this case, I’ll take every advantage possible.

Clark glares down at me, and then he’s leaning down faster than I can react and crashing his mouth into mine. It’s rough, more violence and teeth than there’s any real kind of skill or pleasure to it, and that makes complete sense of my split lip. If this is how he kisses, I can find it really easy to imagine that he made me bleed during one of them. All it would take is a single moment where he lacked control, or came in at the wrong angle and caught my lip between his teeth and mine. More proof that sleeping with a kryptonian is _dangerous_ if you don’t also happen to be mostly invulnerable.

I wonder how Tim dealt with that; even with a half-breed like Kon-El, the strength would be a danger.

I meet the kiss, choosing to part my teeth rather than let him force his way in despite my resistance, and he presses his hips down into me and gives a rumbling moan into my mouth, taking it as an invitation. The sweep of his tongue lacks any kind of finesse, and my few attempts at coaxing it into any sort of a real dance are completely fruitless. I resist the mocking noise that wants to leave my throat, enduring his kiss — I can _barely_ call it that — until he finally pulls away. He’s not breathing completely steadily, and his eyes are hooded and dark with desire.

Kryptonians _are_ easy to manipulate, aren’t they? Even when I’m not trying.

“I’m going to _fuck_ you.”

I raise an eyebrow at his declaration, as if he thinks I won’t tear his skin from his bones if he _dares_ trying to take me without an invitation. Sure, he’ll succeed, but I won’t let him get away with that. “You’re welcome to,” I counter, “ _if_ you make that deal with me. I have no interest in sleeping with you without the benefit to me, _Clark_.”

Frustration colors his cheeks, narrows and sharpens his eyes, and I can feel the heat of him pressed against my stomach, but choose not to look down and see precisely what kind of a state he’s in.

“What do you want from _me?_ ” he demands, as if that will give him some kind of a base to go off of with his own request.

I smirk, and he jerks backwards an inch or so when I push myself up in a sharp motion, getting close to him and wrapping my right hand around the back of his neck to hold myself up, so I can dig my nails into his skin and speak directly into his ear. I can feel the tension that says he’s wary, and decidedly not comfortable, but he doesn’t let go of the wrist he has pinned down, or pull away from me.

“There’s _nothing_ I want from you, Kal-El,” I tell him, and I can almost feel his _anger_ at that despite not being able to see his expression from this angle. “But I’ll _take_ your failure as a chance to show you how sex _should_ be done. If you _can’t_ make me lose control, then my prize will be having you to myself for a night, until you either pass out, or I’m _done_ with you.” He’s totally stiff against me, barely breathing, and I give a soft hum of amusement into his ear and let out a breath to tease his skin. “Don’t worry, I won’t _hurt_ you, Clark. The only thing you’ll be screaming in is _pleasure_.”

I can feel the tug as he jerks away from me, and follow the blur of motion to where he’s backed completely off the bed to stand, fists clenched and head instinctively lowered down to protect his throat, muscles stiff and eyes caught somewhere between shock and anger. I easily brace my freed left hand to hold myself up, ignoring my nudity — his retreat dragged the sheet to the floor — and letting my mouth curl in a slow smirk as I watch him. Slowly, deliberately, I lower my gaze to where he’s still hard, and not showing any signs of getting smaller.

“Scared, Clark?” I challenge, raising my gaze back to meet his eyes. “Not expecting to have the tables turned on you, or frightened because _obviously_ the idea isn’t the turn-off to you that you _think_ it should be?” I edge down and slide off the bed, making sure my muscles move as smoothly as I’m capable of making them to mimic some of Dick’s easy grace. I have my own style, and I keep some of my stalking stride where he would use a dancing slip instead, but usually I’m looking to intimidate with my walk, not seduce. This is a nice in between mix.

I straighten up and get closer to where he’s standing, keeping my smirk to play against his clenched jaw, and move just a bit to the side so I’m approaching from an angle. At his shoulder, as opposed to head-on. He doesn’t back away, and his mouth twists in something between a snarl and a sneer, but he doesn’t make a sound. I don’t get close enough to touch, but I get close enough to lean in and speak softly, _knowing_ he’ll hear me.

“Your hyper-masculinity is a comfort to you, isn’t it? It makes it easier to think of being with another man if you assume _you’ll_ be the one on top.” He swallows, and I let my smirk get just a little _meaner_. “That’s so _narrow-minded_ of you, Clark.” I lean just a little closer, letting my chest brush his shoulder as I tilt my head to speak into his ear. “Did you really think that just because you were going to fuck _me_ that it put you in _charge_ , Clark? That somehow it made _you_ more masculine and me less just because of who was in what position? Does it _scare_ you to think of me doing the same to you, but with more _skill_ than you because _I_ don’t hide behind my cock and testosterone like it’s the answer to every problem?” He jerks, and I give a soft laugh and lean close enough to nearly brush my lips against his ear. “You’re still _hard_ , Clark, so obviously the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it makes you _lust_.”

He pulls sharply away, backing off a few steps, and I stay where I am to watch him. He’s glaring, but I can also see that he’s shaken and unnerved, and that’s tremendously satisfying.

“Get the _hell_ away from me,” he snarls, and I straighten my head out of its tilt.

“You’ve done that for me,” I point out. “You know _my_ terms, Clark. When you get over your own misguided sense of masculinity, and come up with something you want from _me_ , the deal is on the table.”

He stares at me for several long seconds, and then there’s a rush of blurred movement, the sound of the door to my room unlocking, and more rushed movement. It’s too fast for me to track with just my eyes, but I follow it as best I can and recognize that Clark is gathering his uniform back up and tugging it on, all in super-speed, in the ten or so seconds before he’s slipping out the barely open door and another beep announces that it’s closing.

My smirk stays, and as soon as the door has completely closed I head for the discarded pieces of my suit and start pulling them on. The helmet is last, of course, and I immediately click the coms on. Or, I would if they weren’t already on, and reactivating the helmet didn’t set them yelling in my ears. It’s not precisely shouting, but I can pick out Jason, Dick, and Tim trading sharp conversation that seems to be mostly geared around the subject of me. There’s frustration in their tones, and a bit of worry too.

“O here,” I interject smoothly, and they all go immediately silent at the sound of my voice. I start checking my belt and the hidden pockets of my suit to confirm what I’m still carrying, as I offer into the silence, “I seem to be missing some time from my memories. At least a day, possibly longer. The situation I woke up in seemed to imply a lack or impairment of judgement or mental capacity. I’m at the Syndicate base and heading back to the Roost, would any of you care to fill me in on the way?”

“ _I_ _ **told**_ _you he was—”_ Tim starts, seemingly not aimed at me.

Jason huffs out a deep sigh, and I can hear a faint, _“Jaybird, what happened?”_ in the background.

Dick cuts Tim off by snapping, _“Thank you, T, I_ _ **got**_ _that,”_ and then gives a slightly faked laugh. _“Yeah, O, I’ve at least got the start of the story.”_

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, of course, this spawned a whole other little section of stories in my head. Maybe I'll get around to more of this, later on. So, in the continuity of my Earth-3 universe, this is later than just about everything but 'Making a List'. Jason is happily with Roy and Kori, Dick is sorta-seeing Gannon but not really, and Kon is officially part of the Owl-family (yeah, I've got that story in my head too).
> 
> See you all tomorrow!


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